Recognition
O Nature, my Mother, how thoughtless and careless
Was I of thy love in the times that are past;
But awake, and aware of thy wonderful kindness,
I lean my tired head on thy bosom at last.
Thy rivers went singing between their green borders,
But all their low music was nothing to me;
My life was so young, I was taking my orders,
My fancies went swifter than waves to the sea.
The peaks of the mountains were pleading for notice;
The stars were my friends, and they called from the sky;
The winds at my windows were knocking like fingers;—
O where was my heart that it could not reply?
Come haste thou to me, most Merciful Mother,
Bidding me rest in thy beauty and calm;
Taking my part, and, as something akin to me,
Healing my hurts with beneficent balm.
Nature, thou kind one, I love thee and praise thee;
In sunshine or shadow, in silence or sound
I creep to thy arms. Like an Indian hunter,
I list for thy voice with my ear to the ground.
O Nature, my Mother, how thoughtless and careless
Was I of thy love in the times that are past;
But awake, and aware of thy wonderful kindness,
I lean my tired head on thy bosom at last.
Thy rivers went singing between their green borders,
But all their low music was nothing to me;
My life was so young, I was taking my orders,
My fancies went swifter than waves to the sea.
The peaks of the mountains were pleading for notice;
The stars were my friends, and they called from the sky;
The winds at my windows were knocking like fingers;—
O where was my heart that it could not reply?
Come haste thou to me, most Merciful Mother,
Bidding me rest in thy beauty and calm;
Taking my part, and, as something akin to me,
Healing my hurts with beneficent balm.
Nature, thou kind one, I love thee and praise thee;
In sunshine or shadow, in silence or sound
I creep to thy arms. Like an Indian hunter,
I list for thy voice with my ear to the ground.
Was I of thy love in the times that are past;
But awake, and aware of thy wonderful kindness,
I lean my tired head on thy bosom at last.
Thy rivers went singing between their green borders,
But all their low music was nothing to me;
My life was so young, I was taking my orders,
My fancies went swifter than waves to the sea.
The peaks of the mountains were pleading for notice;
The stars were my friends, and they called from the sky;
The winds at my windows were knocking like fingers;—
O where was my heart that it could not reply?
Come haste thou to me, most Merciful Mother,
Bidding me rest in thy beauty and calm;
Taking my part, and, as something akin to me,
Healing my hurts with beneficent balm.
Nature, thou kind one, I love thee and praise thee;
In sunshine or shadow, in silence or sound
I creep to thy arms. Like an Indian hunter,
I list for thy voice with my ear to the ground.
O Nature, my Mother, how thoughtless and careless
Was I of thy love in the times that are past;
But awake, and aware of thy wonderful kindness,
I lean my tired head on thy bosom at last.
Thy rivers went singing between their green borders,
But all their low music was nothing to me;
My life was so young, I was taking my orders,
My fancies went swifter than waves to the sea.
The peaks of the mountains were pleading for notice;
The stars were my friends, and they called from the sky;
The winds at my windows were knocking like fingers;—
O where was my heart that it could not reply?
Come haste thou to me, most Merciful Mother,
Bidding me rest in thy beauty and calm;
Taking my part, and, as something akin to me,
Healing my hurts with beneficent balm.
Nature, thou kind one, I love thee and praise thee;
In sunshine or shadow, in silence or sound
I creep to thy arms. Like an Indian hunter,
I list for thy voice with my ear to the ground.
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